


Confidante

by Enrapture



Series: The Enemy [2]
Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: 35th Hunger Games, Alliances, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Gen, Hunger Games, Hunger Games universe, Mentions to previous series work, Original Arena, Original Character Death(s), Other, POV Original Character, Siblings, Small mentions to romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 00:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enrapture/pseuds/Enrapture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years after the Twenty fifth annual Hunger games, Wade Galloway's younger sister lingers in the shadow of her older brother who was killed in the arena. His noble sacrifice has made him a martyr in the capitol, but has left his family starving at home. Katri Galloway fights for the survival of the family, trading her name for food. Though the year of the Thirty fifth Hunger games approach, she is among the crowd of options. </p><p>And the odds are not in her favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A home long forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> Pilot chapter for the continuation of the series The Enemy. I really did not think I would be doing this but everyone I know thought it would be a pretty snazzy Idea to keep going so here it is.

**"** The victor, of the Twenty Fifth Hunger games! **"** Julius Flickerman announces, and on stage comes a girl.

She wears something similar to what she did in her interview, her long hair over one eye to bring sex appeal. Her dress is large and extends outward, cut to expose one of her legs as she walks. It is a dark dress, and at the end of it there are flickers of flames and sparks of cords you would find in technology. Over her ear is a flower, hair pushed back to allow it comfort. Her sleeves are skin tight, and white, contrasting her dress but complimenting it as it is outlined in diamonds as each layer passes. A bracelete is on her wrist and it shows a reflection of the sea, one much similar to the one she had in her games. She slumps in her chair and leans back every now and then like a boy would, her leg which is bare is spread open.

"Well aren't you lovely?" Julius asks the crowd, and she flashes a sly smile from him to the cameras.

"I wouldn't call myself that." She manages a reply.

"Oh dear," Julius starts, looking down at the sparks and flickers that come from the hem of her dress, "have I seen that before?"

"You have," The girl states, looking at him with confidence in her hazel eyes and a suddenly serious face, "this dress reflects on all the other tributes who were in the games with me."

Julius smiles from her to the crowd, though his attention is always for her, "Really now?"

"Yes." She replies.

"What's that one?" Julius asks, pointing to the flower.

"Karis, she was the lumber district. I thought it would be fitting to wear a flower instead, they wouldn't let me have the birds in my hair." She tells them, and they laugh.

"This one?" Julius points to the bangle.

"Eta and Echo." She replies.

"Tell me then, do you have a special one just for Wade?" Julius questions.

It's a hard question, because at first she doesn't answer. Her face falls and her eyes lower. When she does look up, there is a hint of some sort of regret or danger of tears in her eyes. 

"No," She says.

"No."

 

* * *

 

My name is Katri Galloway, and I am the younger sister of Wade Galloway. When I was six years old, he was sent off to the games at thirteen years old. He was small for his age, had yet to transform into a man physically. The rest of the tributes that year were much larger, both in height and weight. Yet he stood, surviving most of the games. His district partner died in the bloodbath, and he just stood there in as much shock as any of us. Then, a girl named Winnow swept him up and took him away. They were in an alliance much larger than just the two of them, I discovered.

The first time I saw him take a life, my father covered my eyes and wept silently. Our presence was manditory, so we could not hide in our homes and pretend the games were not happening. It was a haunting reminder of how much power they held over us, how hopeless creatures we were.

The second life my brother took, the entire district was looking away. I heard rumors that nobody wept for the tribute my brother killed, because he was a malicious boy from district five.

The third was the one nobody could take their eyes away from. After the feast and his near death experience, him and the girl Winnow were forced to return to the Corncucopia to finish the finale. There, he killed Karis.

Then, he forced Winnow to take his life.

My father yelled, angry and heart broken at the loss of a child. In his anger he told me he never even wanted us, because of this reason. My step mother screamed out for my brother, and the entire district went into a chaotic mourning. I did not cry, or scream even. I did not understand at that age what was happening, but I do now. I am Katri Galloway, and I am sixteen years old. It has been ten years since my brother died in that arena, since the Quarter Quell. The entire game is a blur to me now, but I remember the name of the victor who took my brothers life by his command.

* * *

The sky is lighting up, indicating to me what time it is. I prepare myself to leave the house, a long jacket from my father and some of his old clothes that he wore with my mother when she was alive. Now all he wears is what the mine requires him to wear. The ugly grey uniform with the stains of coal and dirt. I slip out of my room, which leads then to the hallway and the main room where my father sleeps. He is not there, already gone to work. My step mother sits in his place, staring at the ground with such lost eyes that it seems hopeless to speak to her. Though she looks up at me when I stop at the door frame.

"Where are you going?" She asks.

"I'm going to try to hunt again today." I tell her.

Suddenly she laughs hysterically, like i've told her a joke worth laughing at. Then, her loud cackle is replaced by tears and sobs. It is pointless to console her, it never helps. I have been trying for ten years, but after Wade has died nothing seems to work. Anything could remind her of him, and when she does remember it is as if he were her own child. She begins going on about how she lied to him, how she told him he would win. So instead of trying to console her, I exit the room and go back to the hallway. Then, after putting on my boots I leave my house.

I close the screen door behind me, though it is the only door we have. Some consider us lucky for even having a door, but we are no richer than anyone else. Moving down the steps, I follow the hidden path out to the electric fence. When I reach it, I simply move through the spaces. It is never on, I had discovered from my past adventures. Through the grass I run into the forest, to hide from the sight of my district. The peace keepers would never let me go, if they knew I was in the first place. My step mother is the only one who really knows, but when she banters about it in her fits of tears everyone dismisses it. The whole district has thought she has lost her mind.

The forest is much louder than my district, but in the most quiet of ways. The nature all around me is constantly moving and working at speeds I can't see with my naked eye. The top of the forest consists of the tree branches and leaves, making a canopy like effect. Mockingjay's sing melodies that I haven't heard before, but they are beautiful. The noises are more natural, the colors are more vibrant. The entire forest changes the way I think of the world, and sometimes I want to just live here forever.

A path leads through the forest, one that is naturally made. I follow it, as I always do. It leads to a tree, where a nest of some sort would have been. Instead of animals, as most would expect to find, I reach in and find a weapon. It has been left there for somebody else, but I use them when I go out into the wild. It is a longbow, hand carved with a kitchen knife I assume. The arrows are there too, but each time they are different. They aren't anything fancy, just simple. I remember my father telling me stories of how far back our family went, of a time where men hand made arrows and used rocks as the tip. This one is much similar to the stories, though there are no elegant feathers on its blunt end, no special touch.

I walk through the forest, quiet and careful. The arrows tucked in my belt and the bow in my hand. My bright eyes observe everything, focusing on movement that is happening where I can see it. Then, I stop. Sudden and silent, I come to a complete stop and look up. Above me is a squirell, nothing special but just enough. I reach for an arrow, bringing it to the bow. When I pull back, it runs. I let the arrow go after it though, even though it is too late for me to catch it. It falls in some uncharted spot of the forest, and I curse myself.

Of course who ever is making these bows and arrows must know that I am using them too. Often I aim and miss, and even more often I can't retrieve the arrow from where I shoot it off at. With practice I'll get better, I know that much.

Most of the day I remain in the forest, trying to hunt for food. My name has been casted in too many times for me to get food for the family again. If I don't figure out another way to find food, then my name will be called and like my brother I will be marched to the arena. I sit on a rock out in the forest, thinking about this all as the sun begins to go down. I don't stay here long, I can't really. Usually I would have left by now, but I decide to stay there and try to lift my spirits. There is an uneasy feeling I get every year before the games, ever since my brother went off to his own. The chances of me following in his footsteps are more than likely, but the thing that bothers me most is that people voted for my brother to go to the arena. They casted him out, and that is what I can't shake off.

Though every year since then, it's been like this. The tribute would be random, a game of chance. My father would always laugh when anyone muttered the words luck or favor. There is none left, he would say. I always tell him he is wrong, that I haven't been in the games for four years, four years that my name could have been called. He would tell me that four other girls went in my place those years, and just because I survived means nothing.

I return home in the late evening after placing everything back to it's place. There is no food I can bring home tonight, so we will starve until the morning.

When I open the door, kick off my shoes and walk into the living room my father is already home. My father and my step mother sit beside each other on a bed, one that belonged to my brother before we made it into a sort of couch.

"Where have you been?" My father asks me. He is leaning forward and his eyes are on me, his stained hands holding each other as his elbows rest on his knees.

I stare, not sure how to reply. He does not know of me going to the forest, but I know he would not approve. I spare a glance towards my step mother. She is staring at the ground, tired and starving. "I was on a walk." I lie.

"Tell me the truth." He demands, anger rising in his face.

"I met a boy." It is as much as a lie as the one before, but it convinces my dad.

My father looks at me, a flicker of hope in his eyes shadowed by reminder. Suddenly he is frowning and lowering his head, "You can't talk to him anymore."

I want to just agree. That will be fine. I can ignore this imaginary boy who really does not exist. If I did that though, he would know I was a liar. I build up fake emotions, bring anger and sadness to myself. My face contorts into an emotion that isn't just one as I shout towards him, "That's not fair!" I stomp at the ground for good measure.

My father stands, looking at me with anger. He does not like his rule to be challenged, something I have learned quickly in the past years of my life.

"You will not see him any more!" He shouts louder than me.

I let out a fake sob, one of defeat and betrayal. Then I turn away, running into my room where I can be alone. I slam the door behind me, though as gently as I can. We can not afford a door, especially when we can barely afford food. I fall to my bed when the door is closed, and let my facade vanish. My blue eyes stare upward, towards the ceiling. I don't pay attention to it, I never really do. I just look at it while I explore my thoughts and imagination.

Within the night, I fall asleep. When I wake up, I am tucked into my bed and there is a knock at my door.

With a growl, I push the sheets off slowly and turn in my bed towards the door, "Come in." I tell them.

My step mother opens it, and smiles at me. Tears are in her eyes and she is shaking. I know what day it is, the reaping will take place today. It is time to prepare for it. She does not speak, and she does not have to for me to understand it. I nod silently, sitting up from my bed and moving through the house to the bathroom. It is one of the only rooms that I feel alone in, alone and at peace with myself. The bath is already ready when I get there, and I slip in after undressing.

I let myself sink under the water, as I usually do when I actually bathe. I open my eyes when I am under, holding my breath for survival. I look around, and most of the water is clear, aside from the dirt that I collect on my skin floating around. My dark brunette hair floats around my face, which I can see in the water. When I can no longer hold my breath, I emerge from the water. Oxygen is a gracious thing, and when it floods my lungs once more I cough and pant. My step mother never comes in or asks me if I am okay. She probably must think every year before the games I try to kill myself, but even with that thought as a possibility she never stops me.

When I am clean, I stand from the bath and step out of it. I dry myself with a rag, the only thing we have. It takes a long time, and my hair is not fully dry by the time I get dressed in a yellow flower dress. It is a loose dress, barely fits me though my step mother assures me it was made that way. It has a sort of transparent fabric as a belt, but even that is loose and serves no real purpose.

The shoes are yellow, almost a type of slipper but not quite. I wear a necklace that belonged to my mother, since my hair will be up today and it won't try to knot itself up in the cord that holds the pendant above my chest. My step mother comes to me when I am dressed, making my hair up the way she was taught to do as a child. It is a high ponytail, but then she wraps the flowing hair around the base and calls it a bun with a few more rubber bands.

When I am ready, I look to her and smile. She gives me a faint smile in response. Tears threaten her eyes, she quivers like a leaf when she reaches out and rubs her hands up and down my arms.

"You look like your mother." She admits.

"You don't look a day over thirty." I reply, and we laugh.

Her laugh is hollow, void of meaning and dead on arrival. Though I enjoy the time we have, these moments where she seems like she could be normal again. As if my brother had never walked the face of the earth and she had never grown to love him like her own.

"Do you think they'll call my name?" I ask.

She does not say anything, and I know why. Because she told Wade he would win, and that was nothing more than a fabricated lie. The entire capitol had her back though, nearly everyone was chanting it at the finale. Everyone had some sort of bet on him, and he was so close to being proclaimed victor. Yet he, in that moment, forgot about his family and everything he had to go back to. If I go to the games, I will achieve as a victor and come home.

"I'll come home if they do, I promise." I tell my step mother.

Her blue eyes look to me, and she begins to cry. I hold her as she does, whispering to her that I will, I would. I believe that she wants to be proud of me, to say that she knows I will. Yet another part of me says that she won't believe me, because of my brother. My brother who has ruined everything for me over a girl he met in the arena who did not even give him a token in his honor.

We then go to the place of reaping, being forced to split up by the peace keepers. She weeps more when they tear her away from me, but I try to shout to her, tell her it is alright. They take my blood, force my finger onto a page and then I am thrust forward into a crowd of girls. To the left of us are the boys, sitting there all of them staring at the empty stage. We all are, we are waiting.

On stage the familiar Trixie Doverheight appears, though remarkably aged. It won't be long before she is dismissed and another takes her place. I stay silent as she begins the speech, telling us how lucky we are. Going through the video that plays almost every year and then wishing us the odds in our favor.

"Ladies first!" She announces.

It has been this way for a long time, the girls name is drawn first then the boys. I look at the transparent bowl with little pieces of paper in it, wondering how many of those have my name printed in fine letters. Trixie moves her hand around, taunting us before she dives in and decides a paper. When she moves back to the microphone she opens the paper.

"Katri Galloway."

I step forward without even a thought. My name has been called, and by instinct I make myself known. The look in her eyes is that of horror, because she remembers that name. It was the name that belonged to my brother and will belong to many more after us. Hesitantly, I move towards the steps, then up them. I am guided by a peace keeper, and then I assume I must look like I may fall because of how gentle he is with me. Though when I am at her side, he is gone.

I look towards the woman, and she is staring at me. Blinking back tears she puts the slip of paper away and shakily speaks into the microphone. Now boys, and then she is to the other bowl. I watch her reach into it, pulling out a paper more reluctant than she did before. Back at the microphone, she then addresses the name of the boy who will be at my side during the games. To share my district number until he dies.

"Cole Backus."

The boy is slow to respond, but I can visibly see him try to be as calm as I was. Though in truth I am anything but calm, just determined and frightened. Cole steps out of the crowd, and I can see him better now. His hair is a dark red, eyes a brown color that just seems like empty abyss. He looks weak, thin and starving just like I do. Though I remember his face from around the district meaning he lives near me.

Moving up the steps, I watch him with observing eyes. Every way his body moves I keep a close eye on, to estimate how much of a threat he will be to me. When he is at Trixie's side, she tells the district what they already know. The two tributes for district twelve, and then we shake hands. He extends his hand out quickly, and I shake it with whatever strength I can will myself to use. I want to frighten him, to make him avoid me. It only encourages his gaze.

Then, we are taken into rooms. Seperate small rooms. I look around, knowing my brother was not in this room but one much similar just next door. Cole is in that room, I remind myself. My father is my only visitor, and he frowns when he arrives.

"I'll win." I tell him.

"Your brother was going to win too." He retorts.

Everyone comparing me to him angers me, when most people can't even assume I am his relative. He was so small, so weak and left this world too soon they would tell me in whispers. Dark hair and bright blue eyes is the only traits we share. The only traits I allow myself to share with his memory. "I will win for my mother." I growl in response.

Then, we are silent. My mother is a discussion we avoid in our household almost as much as Wade is. Even whispering her title has earned me long nights with my father crying in the next room. He won't cry now though, just clench his jaw, frown and glare hard at me. I will not back down though, it is too late to do that. The peace keepers take my father from the room with no fight, and they can barely get their hands on him because he is storming out quicker than they can follow.

I let out a small choking sound, looking at the ground and trying to even out my breath.

I will win, I tell myself again.

 


	2. The willow tree

We all three sit at the dinning table on the train. The table is mahogany, decorated and polished to be perfect. At my side is Cole, across from me is Trixie. The closer I am to her and the longer I linger, she appears to age by the second. And on further observation my district partner, Cole, has freckles that sprinkle across his facial features. They match his dark red hair. They also compliment his brown eyes, which are focused on me through the dinner. 

"Stop looking at me." I growl to him under my breath.

He makes a laugh, though it is small and weak. Our escort glares daggers at us, for our lack of manners to be silent during dinner. It was a pointless conquest I think, no one is ever silent for a complete hour unless they want to. Silence won't teach me anything, so I retaliate it the second she is looking at us with threatening eyes.

"Do we have a mentor?" I ask, looking up from my meal to her.

Trixie shakes her head, "No. Your brother made sure of that."

Her tone is spiteful and she must have lost a lot. The Capitol audience may not have been happy with my brothers death, not with how many people had casted in votes in his favor. Trixie must have suffered the most though, being his escort and him letting them all down. Her reputation is tarnished, more than likely. Though I think of how little my brother would have been able to help as a mentor. But if he had won, I would not be here. Then it makes me think, nearly ten games have passed between the two of us. None of those years had produced a victor, a mentor. I keep my gaze on our escort, and wonder just how hard she tried to keep all those tributes alive during the games.

"But there were more tributes than him, it's not like we're just following up Wade." Cole speaks.

I look over to him, and he keeps his attention to Trixie. He brought mention to my thoughts, which means he was thinking the same thing as I was. He also mentioned my brothers name, when our escort hadn't even muttered it during her reply. Then I look to the garish woman opposite of me, who is drinking wine like it's a party festival. Another fine delicacy of the Capitol, I think with disgust. When she is done, she puts the glass down and looks at Cole.

"They all died." She replies.

We remain silent, Cole and I. There is nothing to say to dead tributes, only to silently mourn them. Though their names have escaped me, that does not mean they aren't missed by somebody within our district. I begin to eat my food, deciding not to waste it. We are both from a starving, poor district. I want to pack on pounds like a career tribute would, train hard and gain muscle. By the end of the games I want to be a perfect example of a victor. Be worthy of the crown they sit upon my head.

Cole doesn't fall far behind. He is eating the meal as quickly as I am, and neither of us really have any manners about it. Trixie, who I can see when I sit straight and chew my food, is shaking her head at us with disapproval. We've already broken one of her rules, so I do not find myself too concerned with breaking another. When I finish the meal I notice that our escort has done quite well in intoxicating herself until she is in fits of uncontrolable giggles. Nearly anything could humor her at this point, which I find discouraging. 

"You two are going to die." She laughs.

"Your drunk." Cole says, soft and gentle as if he's dealt with this before.

In response, Trixie bursts into laughter. When her entire body thrusts forward in the chair and her upper body leans down towards the table her wig tilts and threatens to fall off. But it doesn't, instead it just remains there defying gravity and tilting. It's red, though not like my district partners. Instead it is a much more saturated red, more brighter. Cole looks like he is starting to rise from his seat, his face suddenly worried and concerned. We barely met this woman today and now he's trying to keep her from tripping on her own ego. I scoff silently.

"You are going to die." Trixie says again, though more personal and this time she points at Cole.

Cole bites his bottom lip and I roll my eyes. Her behaviour is completely brutish, and she dares judge us about our own. This may be her last year though, by the way she looks and acts. The end for her must be near, there is no way the Capitol would let this go on for longer than a few years. I'm baffled it has lasted this long. 

"You too." She adds. 

"Ladies first." I remark.

Cole gives me a look, one that is cautious and dangerous. I have added to our escorts flame and in response could be our death. Not immediate death, no they need us in the arena because our names have been drawn and our faces have been shown. When we are in the arena though, any and all sponsors we could get may be cut off by our escort, who could convince them not to or send it to another tribute. I then question mentally if that is possible. Briefly I think of my brothers game, where the girl from district seven's mentor sent my brother a knife. Whether it was intended for Karis or him, I can't be sure. 

"You little. . ." She begins, standing from her seat.

"Girls please!" Cole yells, voice desperate and demanding.

I am still sitting, looking up at our escort expectantly. If she wanted to hit me, she could raise her hand at any moment and I would not retaliate. Though I would get revenge in other ways, by winning and becoming victor. By making sure they keep her on the show for another year to make her life a living hell. My eyes shift towards my district partner, who is now standing straight and moving his way around the table at a furious speed. He takes hold of Trixie, despite her protests and screams.

When she does pry out of his arms, she is laughing. It is softer and less maniac than the first few, but still as dark. Off to bed, she tells us, there are only a few more nights before we die. I look to Cole only when he looks at me. His face is red and he must be furious. At which one of us, I don't know. He doesn't answer my question either when it comes out of my mouth. Instead, he replies with a, "this is your fault." And exits. 

Then I am alone, in the train cart and staring at the empty plate in front of me. With another scoff, I push it away and stand up. Moving to the television in the cart I look through the video options. Every game recorded is in a drawer, tucked away for safe keeping. This is more than likely at the hand of the Capitol, I think. Or a personal touch made by our mentor, to rewatch the death of district twelve tributes and mourn them. 

I take out the labeled the ' _Twenty Fifth Annual Hunger Games_ ,' and insert it into the thin opening that belongs to the television. On the screen appears the first recording. Reapings, that is where the games start. I fast forward to my brother, watching him kick and scream as they pull him on stage. It takes almost five peacekeepers to restrain him, all of which have to stay there on stage to assure he stands straight. Unlike his counterpart, he is frightened and shaking. It is a wonder he is standing at all, I think to myself. 

Then he shakes hand with the blonde girl named Vibia Colesmith. I laugh silently to myself when I think of how her last name is almost the same as Cole's first name, though without the smith. 

I fast forward through the Chariots, though make note of the competition. Nearly every tribute is lethal in appearance, and the careers that year are more than willing to be there. Confident and cocky, that is the trait many of them share. The last to emerge is the district twelve chariot, of course. The crowd is silent when they emerge, and I can tell my brother is worried over their lack of applause. Then, Vibia touches the diamond which hangs on the center of her chest. Suddenly sparks are flying in their trail, and the crowd is crazy. When all is done, they are given a speech by the president and hauled away like sheep to the slaughter.

Then it skips to the interviews. The training inbetween that time must be private, I think. The training scores aren't shown, at least not on this disc. It is possible that they did not think it would matter. 

In the interviews, everyone goes by quickly. The first boy who emerges from District one is perfect in appearance. His voice is masculine and he looks more to the crowd than to Julius Flickerman. His partner is blonde, pale and as small as a career can get. She is wearing white just like he was, and it looks like a wedding dress. All she talks about is how proud she is to be part of the Quarter Quell. How she will win.

The next few come and go fairly quick, until one catches my eye. The boy from district five, Gaius. He makes an off colored joke and nobody laughs. He is not popular with the crowd, but he could have won. I remember his face, he was the second victim of my brother. A shame, I think. At eighteen the boy from district five was an attractive boy, though the wits behind those eyes were much more dangerous. 

It goes on like that, my attention being caught by the proud display Karis puts forth. I am in awe and jealousy at her performance, and hope I can beat it with my own. Then, after a few tributes, my eye catches the girl. The girl my brother sacrificed the games for. Winnow, and all her glory. She comes onto the stage, wearing sexually appealing clothes. Her entire posture and attitude is horrible though. Julius asks why she sits like that, and she responds with the fact that he also sits like this, so why cant she?

I growl as I fast forward through the rest of them, only stopping at my brother. 

Like all the stories, he is small. Though by Julius, he is smaller. He does not have a hat on, not this time. His suit is dark with a coal colored feel to it, to represent our district. His dark hair is short, all thrown to one side. It stops above his eyes and around the nape of his neck. The bright blue eyes that I have are shared with him, and I grimace at this observation. Julius reaches out to him, and then he appears to relax visibly, having been tense before. Then, the interview begins.

Julius asks about his opinion towards the Quarter quell, and he replies with ease. 

The crowd laughs, and the entire thing is off putting. The way he holds himself, how determined he looks. Julius then says he hopes that my brother will win, and his confidence is played as he replies with the certainty of it. He will win, he thinks. I watch as he then adds something to it and the crowd applauds. Julius rises him up and then releases him. My eyes lower as I stop the video momentarily, thinking of my brother.

Wade Galloway, who started out terrified had almost transformed completely by the time of the interview. I wonder if at that time, when he told Julius he would win, if he still had his family at mind. My father, me and our step mother. 

I push play again, skipping through Vibia's performance. Then, we are at the day of the arena. The tributes rise and we see it for the first time. It is a meadow, bushes surrounding it and then after that forest. Though the camera zooms out and suddenly we get a birds view of the island. It is huge, and there are visible landmarks on it that will be significant to the games. A cliff that hangs over and to the side of the beach. Then a Sandpit, and to the left of that a swamp. The forest is in the center of all of these, on a hill that leads up to it. From the perspective you can see the distinct cut offs of each area. The Cornucopia's meadow to the forest, the forest to the hill, and then so and so forth. 

For most of the night I watch, my eyes forced to the screen. The game lasted an estimate of five days, if the last day could even be counted. The finale is all I become interested in, watching with bated breath. When it comes, I am pleased. 

It is between Karis, my brother and Winnow. My brother fights Karis, who at this point has lost her mind. I blame it on her stumbling upon the corpse of Gaius, who was killed by Wade, my brother. Though the district four pair had hinted earlier in the arena that the water made you lose your mind if too much was drank. She is fierce, determined and vicious. One throw after another she is after my brother until he tricks her into throwing the golden axe into the forest; which at this point has been engulfed by flames in order to keep the tributes in the finale. 

When my brother does kill her, he takes mercy and slits her throat quick and easy. I close my eyes, making a noise of disapproval as I wait until I hear one of the two speak again. When my blue eyes do open, Winnow is standing in front of Wade. My brother is holding the sickle to his neck, but then retreats his grasp to her shoulders. They have debated about this, about her killing him. 

When she does it, he's on the ground. Winnow stands over him, watching as his body shakes and twitches on the ground. She makes no move to end it for him, just lets him go on that way. Though she is frozen herself in fear, I feel anger rising. Nothing! She does nothing to stop his suffering. Slowly, he bleeds out and I begin to understand how my step mother became the way she was. Seeing this from any perspective would be horrifying, even if you were only a betting man. 

"The Vict-"

I stop it, shut it down and remain sitting on the couch. I look at the ground, eyes wide and voice gone. The death of my brother would have been much better to avoid, but alas seeing it has only strengthened my resolve. I will not let myself be like that of my brother. I have a family to go back to, and still remember them. 

I have a home to return to.

When I stand up, I begin heading to my cart. The only thing that stops me is the sound of another door opening. Curious, I stop, then look behind my by glancing over my shoulder. Cole stands in the doorway of the other cart, leaning against it and staring at me. I turn to look at him, focused and silent. There is nothing I have to say to him, but it seems he has been holding back.

"You watched your brothers games." He states.

"Yes." I reply. There is no need to lie here, nor to him.

"Trixie told me she rounded those up, hoping to mentor us herself." He informs me.

"A poor job." I mutter.

We stand at opposite sides of the car, looking back at each other. Both of us should be asleep, tucked under covers with silent letter z's slipping out of our mouths. He moves towards the couch when he begins to speak again, sitting down there while looking towards me. "She isn't all that bad you know."

"When she's drunk or crying?" I ask, a lip of sarcasm hinted.

Cole laughs, running a hand through his short hair. Shaking his head, I know what he means. She may be drunk, she may be a horrible escort, but she is not a horrible person. Trixie had witnessed death after death of children she had practically raised for an entire week, focused her attentions on. She had a shot to raise a tribute to a victor with my brother, and he spoiled it. 

I move to the couch opposite of his, sitting down and letting out a long sigh. My eyes are on the ground, but they snap to him when he stands from his own couch, crosses the distance betwen us, and sits beside me. I don't protest, as long as he doesn't wrap his arms for me and proclaim his undying love for me.

"You know, when I was a kid I was told a story about a willow tree." He informs me.

"A willow tree?" I ask, not sure what it is. I haven't had much time to study the different types and variations of trees. Even less time to hunt and try to learn how to use a bow and arrow.

"Yeah. My mother would tell me that somewhere out in the world is a willow tree, specifically for me." Cole tells me, but laughs after he does and is shaking his head again. 

"What?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows in confusion towards his sudden laughing.

"She told me that when I died, the tree would be cut down and in the neglected soil beside it another willow tree would be planted." He says more softly, sinking off into thought. 

I look forward, wondering if his mother accounted for him to be a tribute. If she meant he would be one and after he died another would take his place. Every year, one after another, just like that. I smile at it though, despite myself. It is something my mother would say, more than likely. She was a very spirtual person, even though my father protested and groaned about it. I barely knew her, but I had heard stories from my step mother. 

"Your mother sounds like a nice person." I whisper to him.

"She was." He states.

"Is she gone?" I question.

"No. Though she may as well be. Whatever money we have she has spent it on liqour. Every year we are more poor and she is more drunk." He explains to me. I sympathize with him, thinking to my step mother.

Every year after Wade's death, she has plunged deeper into her manic fits of depression and insanity. It seems impossible to retrieve her now that she has sunk so far. Though his statement explains things. His behaviour towards Trixie while she was drunk. He must have dealt with that for years, with how calmly he took it. 

"Go to bed, we have a long day in the morning." Cole says to me, suddenly up and leaving to his car.

"Goodnight." I say, before he can leave.

He pauses at the door, looking to me with a smile before wishing me a goodnight. Then, he is gone, into his room. I sit on the couch, legs to my chest and feet at the edge. A small smile plays on my face as I lower my eyes to the ground. My willow tree won't be cut down, not while I reside a tribute of the hunger games. No, only as a victor.

A willow tree, I think as I smile in the privacy of myself. Just for me, a willow tree.


	3. Delilah and Samson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are BACK! Yes everyone, I've decided to return to the story and write more. While I read over it I was impressed enough to want to continue. So here we are.

Sometimes when I was younger, my stepmother would lead me into the kitchen when my hair got too long. She would sit me down and cut my hair short like Wade's. Ever since he died she scarcely even cut my father's hair when he needed it. I was surprised she could even look at me after seeing my brother through those interviews last night on the television. We had similar eyes, and as I run my fingers through my knotted long brunette hair, I can see his shaggy locks within my own. My hair reached past my breast and under my stomach, stopping somewhere at my thighs. The mirror was not kind, but it did not lie. My eye's narrowed as I tried to ignore the resemblance between my deceased brother and I. Brush your hair, I demand of myself as I reach to the vanity's counter and grab the handle of the brush. My hair has always been an unruly mess, and it grew quick which helped none. While I brushed the knots out of my hair, I quietly considered cutting it short. 

The arena could be dangerous, and my hair could be distracting. I decided against it though, thinking the people of the Capitol may not naturally drift in my favor if I arrived with short hair. I have no idea of their opinions on fashion, other than they were obscenely extravagant. When I finished brushing my hair, I laid the brush on the vanity and looked into the mirror. There, straight and silken just like a doll.

Instead of waiting for somebody to fetch me, I stood from the vanity and left the room. 

The only other person in the main car was Cole, sitting on the couch and staring distantly at nothing in particular. My eyes scavenged the room to make sure of this, and I was relieved to assure myself we were alone. No escort, intoxicated or sober, to tell us of our fate. Reluctant, I moved to the couch and sat beside my district partner, who did little to address my presence. I was simply there, and that seemed like enough for either of us. I had focused my attention on the wall, the television. In the blank, black television I saw the reflection of us, sitting side by side. It wasn't until I properly registered it that I noticed Cole was staring straight at me. My eyes lowered to the ground, though I still avoided meeting his gaze.

"Like what you see?" I managed to growl audibly enough for him to hear. 

A booming laughter came from him in response, a invisible warmth spilling out of him and embracing me. I couldn't help but smile, the laugh he had was addictive. Like a symphony, a melody or a song that I would never forget, constantly replaying in my mind. He had apparently thought it so hilarious he found himself hunching over, holding his stomach and struggling with breath. As I watched a smile erupted on my face, despite my mental protests. 

"It's hard not to," Cole began between his fits of laughter, "lion girl."

I squinted at him, wondering what a Lion was. Perhaps he didn't know either, though it still piqued my curiosity enough to have one of my eyebrows twitch above the other in inquiry. Whether my partner did not notice or did not know how to explain, I can't be sure. Though either way, my silent question was left unanswered by him at least. The silence following it allowed my smile to slip away from my face, and my eyes to avert themselves back to the ground. I sat on the couch much like I did the night before, knee's close to my chest and feet perched on the edge of my seat. Cole slipped closer to me, though made no attempt to hold me that of which I was grateful for. 

"We are almost there. Just an hour before we arrive." Cole informed me, in a hushed tone like it was a secret. 

I looked to him, my eyebrows furrowing as I questioned, "How do you know?"

A large smile ran across his face, dimples appearing on his cheeks. He was far too close for comfort I noted, but it allowed me to appreciate the details of his facial features more as he spoke, "Trixie told me, of course."

My eyes widened, nodding quickly. Yes, that would be the only way any of us would know. At least she was considerate enough to keep the schedule in mind and tell at least one of us. Though it made me wonder when exactly did the two speak of such things? Had she come out earlier, sober and full of content, spilling out our schedule to Cole? Either way, as long as he knew what the two of us were meant to do I could care less about the rest. An hour, that was all we had. An hour before we arrived at the Capitol to be fawned over by it's people. I felt something settle in my stomach, a feeling torn between anxious and worried. They would love me, of course they would. Though would they love me like my brother? Did they love my brother at all? I was stuck in a mental maze, lost to roam within myself by myself. Until Cole moved from the couch, the loss of weight on the cushion beside me causing me to snap forward and into attention. 

"Calm down there, just going to eat the food they laid out for us." The freckled infested boy assured me, and I noticed I had jumped out of my seat. 

I nodded, silently sitting back down and closing in on myself further. My reaction was not appropriate, but at least I knew my awareness despite myself would be good enough for survival in the games. The games, I thought to myself. Twenty four tributes, a weapon for each and a canon for all but one. But the only question that hung on the tip of my tongue was, "What do you think our arena is going to look like?"

I turned from my seated position on the couch, looking of it's back to Cole. He was sitting at the table, smearing butter on toast and eating it with such a delight that looked illegal. His eyebrows raised when he realized I had spoken to him, and was still waiting there expecting a reply. Pushing down his food, he brought a napkin to his mouth, wiped and then turned to me. Each of his arms were resting on something, his left on the table and his right on the back of his chair. I wonder what Trixie would've said to him if she had seen him sit like that. 

"Well what do you think our arena is going to look like?" He parroted my question back at me. 

 I scrunched my nose up at him, making a look of disgust at his failure to comply. Though it made me question myself. What  _did_ I think the arena would be? The recent years had been erratic with the arena's, trying to out stage the quarter quell. The capitol must have lost interest in such small landscapes after my brother's arena. I can not say I blame them, everything looked dull in comparison to the Quarter quell, but I grimaced at the thought of it. 

"What ever they decide to do," Cole began, catching my attention once more, "I just hope we can work with it."

I nodded, there was nothing else a tribute could hope for in a arena. The setting was really more violent and ruthless than any of the tributes that would be there with you, I thought to myself as a warning. 

"Hey..." I began, "you said my brothers name yesterday, how did you know him?"

"Everyone in district twelve knows the name of your brother." Cole stated simply, though it was not enough of an answer to satisfy me. 

"How do you?" I indulged further. 

There was a moment of silence, him gathering his thoughts probably. Then he spoke once more, "I grew up with my mother telling me stories of how we almost had a victor. How I could never hope to be a victor, nobody else but Wade Galloway could have been a victor."

We sit there, each across the room just staring at each other. My partner was suddenly more stern, serious and dismayed. I can't help but think back to last night, Trixie scorning us and cursing us to death. Losers, failures, no victors here she had been growling. I would prove her wrong, and it discouraged me to know that in order to do so I would have to prove Cole's mother right. Cole Backus would be no victor, not in my games.

"You think they believed that when they had cast out my brother?" I ask, a wadding anger appearing in my tone despite myself.

"No, nobody did. They don't think either of us will win either. Face it, we're as dead as they come." Cole spoke, his voice haughty and confident of that at least. That we would both be failures in these games, that we would die before the counter hits zero. 

"I don't care about you, but I am going to win this thing. So you better stay out of my way." I found myself speaking loudly, standing from the couch and rushing past him into my car. And there I stood, alone in the darkness of my car with no light but the sun shinning in through the windows. 

I will win, I tell myself.

I will.

 

 


	4. Something to fight for.

The next day Cole and I arrive at the Capitol, and the people love us. If not both of us, then definitely me. We emerge from the train with Trixie ushering us onto a small stage, much like the one we were reaped from. It's magnificent, all these people dressed in delicate clothing that is so outrageous it excites me. I've never seen so many different variations of colors and fashions, it is simply breath taking.

The men cheer, the women clap softly to keep their delicate composure in check. Children squeal, and I find myself enjoying the limelight. I bring a hand up, waving my hand and smiling at them. The only time I found myself surprised or worried was when Cole took my free hand with his own, waving to the crowd with his other. His palms were damp, and when I dared to glance over I could see the stressed smile on his face consistently waning. He was worried, stressed and nervous. Had I been forgetful of what he had said the night before, I would have let my glance to him linger. Had I not been in front of the crowd, I would have ripped my hand away with disgust.

And eventually we did part.

They led us in different directions, preparing us physically to be looked upon. They washed me down, waxed me and painfully plucked at me. Despite my attempts to not make responses to the small tortures in the name of beauty, I found myself quite audible with each rip of waxing paper. Each time I was shushed like a child, patted and then put to the side. I found nothing to be concerned about until they lead me into a room with no explanation.

"Where are you going?" I asked after the woman who was about to close the door.

She halted, her dark colored skin in contrast to the pitch white room. Her dark brown eyes observed me, cautious on how to reply to my still unanswered question. After biting her lip and taking a thoughtful moment, she replied, "Stay here."

It was hardly an answer. Though before I could raise any fuss over the topic she retreated and closed the door behind her. Chase after her, my body screamed at me. So I did, moving to the door and opening it. As the door swung open I found tht it was not in my direction, as I was face to face with another stranger of the Capitol. This time it was a man, who could practically blend in with the room. His eyebrows and hair were white, though not due to age. If he was old enough to wear the color naturally, then his complexion betrayed him. We stood there, eyes locked. 

"Where are you going?" He questioned.

"I was looking for answers." I reply, backing into the center of the room once more.  


A booming laughter emerged from him as he followed my steps, closing the door behind him. I hadn't been jesting, I thought bitterly. Albeit it was good to know I possessed the uncanny trait of humor even when I did not mean to. "You won't find them out there," He tells me, "my name is Zemptest, and I will be your stylist this year."

"You are going to be responsible for making me a star?" I mutter in disbelief, looking him over. This 'Zemptest' was none to impressive to me, he barely looked like he had rolled out of bed that morning.

"Sadly that title was taken by your brother's district partner, Vibia Colesmith." Zemptest speaks, moving past me towards a rack of clothes which I had not noticed until now. 

Most of them are dresses, ranging from light blues to dark grays. I wonder which one he will choose for me, and if it will be the right choice. I can not risk to lose the love of the people now, not when my competition may be tough. The words he spoke sink in however, of his knowledge to my brother and his partner. It makes me wonder if he had been the one to tend to Vibia Colesmith. Instead of saying anything in retaliation, I stand in the middle of the room with my hands at my sides clenched. 

When he pulls one out and shows it to me, I do not move. It is beautiful, in every sense of the word but I will not show my approval. It's bottom bellows out like a flower, falling in layers like petals. It's waist is tight and the cleavage is covered by bright white feathers like a bird. When he shows me the back, I marvel. The waist of the dress ends with long, elegant white feathers that reach to the end of the dress' skirt. The hem of the dress is lined with an almost surreal white fur. A headdress goes with it, he shows me. It's a bird, presumably the same bird that provided the feathers over the cleavage. He extends it to me, offering to allow me to touch it. Couldn't hurt, he mutters, since I am going to be wearing it.

I reach out and touch the headdress, the bill of the bird. My eyes are filled with some sort of soft curiosity because when I glance to Zemptest he merely smiles and mutters the word, "Swan."

My face turns a deep red, and I feel like a child. My knowledge was not even extensive enough to identify a bird of such beauty. Then how would I have been to know what a Swan looked like, we rarely even had regular birds in the forest in District Twelve. I put on the swan dress, after Zemptest leaves and promises not to enter again without my consent. When it is on, I call him back into the room to put the headdress on. Before he does he braids my hair in what he calls a Fallera hairdo. He must have done it a million times before, because it only takes him a few minutes to get my hair ready for the headdress.

After the final piece is added to my outfit, I look at myself in the mirror. I am magnificent, like the bird upon my head. Though very much alive, despite our likeness.

"You look great. Now, let's go to the chariots." Zemptest says to me, offering his arm.

I wrap mine around his, and with careful procedures I manage to leave the room all still in one piece. When we reach the chariots, I catch sight of my district partner. Cole is leaning against the chariots, his ear being chewed off by what I assume is his stylist.

His headdress is not a swan, but rather a silver piece which mirrors the features of a swan. The majority of his body is exposed, aside from a silver piece across his shoulder and chest which holds up his silver tinted shorts. Before he can notice, or before I am close enough to him to catch attention, I smile. We look beautiful, and we will stun the crowd.

When we finally arrive, Cole stands on his own. His mouth gapes open as he observes me and I feel uncomfortable under his gaze. Look away, I want to scream, look away! It is not like the way Zemptest looks at me, and I do not appreciate it. Though he continues to stare, mouth open like a fish and eyes glued to me. 

"You look like an idiot like that." I bark when he refuses to tear his eyes away from me or close his god forsaken mouth.

This grabs his attention, and immediately his attention is turned to his stylist. His mouth shuts and he just simply stands there, arms crossed over his chest and eyes away from me. My face is only red with anger. He will make us look pathetic, stupid and outrageous. More importantly, he will make  _me_ look like a target. 

We stay in silence until we hear the doors begin to open and them calling us out one by one. Cole and I are rushed into the chariot, side by side. I must hold onto the side of the Chariot to keep my balance, especially once the horses begin to move. My heart beats quickly with anticipation, and I can feel myself become anxious of seeing the crowd once more. The crowd, which was like a lover to me. They adored me, and in return I respected them. As we were rolled out last, the crowd roared. We were magnificient, much better than any before us. 

All of the other tributes looked ghastly, sick or fearful. The only competition that could be compared to our beauty was that of the career districts. I could see them now, on the screen's above us. Most of them wore gold, royal purples or other colors that screamed victory was theirs for the taking. The camera did not stay on them long however, before they shifted their attentions to us. As I smiled and waved to the crowd I reminded myself, we were in their attention. With all this in mind I made the most of it, keeping my smile on and blowing kisses to the crowd. This was my game, not theirs.

We came to a halt, the very last of all. The president spoke, making the same introduction speech he does every year. Though every year he had a new number to shout to the crowd, who drank it like it was fine wine. I did not break eyesight with the president, though he was not focused on me. When I came out victor, I would remember every word he said, and return it to him in kind. Because one day the president and I would be standing on the same stage, and he would crown me victor. 

"And may the odds be ever in your favor." The President wishes us, and I take it in.

Because the odds are in my favor.


End file.
